Title: Outside Looking In
Pairing: House/Wilson Friendship/possible pre-slash, mentions of House/Cuddy & Wilson/Amber
Rating: PG
Summary: Where did Wilson disappear to after House left him at the end of Under My Skin? Written before the season 5 finale.
Warnings: Spoilers for episodes 5x23 & 5x24 "Under My Skin" and "Both Sides Now," along with general season 5 spoilers.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never was, never will be. If I did own House, those college loans would finally get paid off.
A/N: The ending of "Under My Skin" left me unsatisfied mainly because there was no clue given to the viewers as to where Wilson disappeared to. This is an attempt for me to answer that mystery. It's an alternative view to the end, as seen from Wilson's POV. It's NOT a first person POV; just want to clarify that. Also, my original intent for this fic had to be changed a bit and take into consideration the season finale. As such, I'm including a warning for spoilers for "Both Sides Now," though this takes place before that episode and technically doesn't give anything away if you haven't seen it yet. I hope that makes sense.
"Goodnight, Wilson."
Wilson watched House limp out of the bedroom, leaving behind a half-packed suitcase on the bed and a friend whose worry was only mounting. Wilson sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose, not entirely sure what his next course of action should be.
He had tried so hard all day to help House. When the other man had first barged in to his office that morning, Wilson had been ready to send House away on the principle that there were only so many times he could deal with his eccentrics. Yet the look in House's eyes and the use of the word "hallucination" had shut that part of his brain up very quickly. Wilson had turned his back on House far too many times in the past for him to dismiss this sudden desperate need.
And everything had just snowballed from there.
The shock of learning that House was actually seeing Amber, and not Kutner, was nothing compared to the horror he had felt at seeing House in an insulin induced seizure. Once the adrenalin had worn off and House had been stabilized, Wilson had found himself shaking and fighting back tears.
Losing House was simply something Wilson could not comprehend. Not anymore. Not after Amber.
But now Wilson was at a loss. When House had called him, sounding like a scared little boy, he knew something more had to be done. House was beyond any help that he could give; rehab was the only answer. But now that idea…it had left when House had walked out the door to God knows where.
The temptation to chase after House was itching at Wilson now. House needed rehab; the hallucinations wouldn't go away without it.
Why was House seeing Amber? Was it guilt or…
He quickly halted that train of thought though, knowing he shouldn't follow it. Wilson was already starting to truly move on, so thinking too hard about Amber would just take him down a path of pain he didn't want to revisit.
Needing to do something, he made his way over to House's bed and started unpacking the suitcase, placing all the items back in their respective places. House would mock him later for his compulsive behavior, but he didn't care. It was only a reminder of a plan that would never see completion now. That fact alone was something that made Wilson's head, and heart, hurt.
Realizing he couldn't stay any longer, and wanting nothing more than to go home and forget about the entire day, Wilson left House's apartment, making sure to lock the door behind him. As he made his way over to his car, he noticed House's bike was still parked out front; the other man had obviously taken a cab somewhere.
And despite the nagging voice in the back of his head, Wilson got in his car, and drove off.
**
Hours later, Wilson paced the living room of his apartment, running his hands through his hair constantly and upsetting its perfectly combed look. He was restless, and despite the late hour, couldn't convince himself to try and go to sleep.
His mind was on overdrive, focused completely on everything that had happened with House that day. It was like replaying each event in Technicolor and blowing it up to three times its size.
House rushing in to his office.
House yelling "Enough!" to someone (Amber) not there.
House telling him he was seeing Amber.
Seeing the list of mental illnesses on the back of an envelope.
Sitting in on his differentials, Foreman watching suspiciously.
Watching House seize on the floor, and then shouting for help.
Struggling with his emotions as House regained consciousness after the insulin nightmare.
The utterly broken sound of House's voice over the phone.
Watching House walk away from him and any attempt to save his mind.
Wilson clutched his head in his hands, pulling at his hair and willing the images to disappear from his mind. But they only repeated over and over, almost as if they were mocking him to do something.
He couldn't take it anymore. Wilson had to see House; he needed to see for himself that he was okay. The insulin shock and House's genuine fear, more than anything else, had left him paranoid and feeling like he was standing on the edge of a cliff.
Or maybe it was House standing on the edge of the cliff, and Wilson was trying desperately to grab him before he fell.
Before he could second guess himself, Wilson grabbed his jacket and car keys and made for the door.
**
The harsh orange-yellow light from the street lamps made the raindrops on Wilson's windshield gleam and cast an unnatural glow on to the slick road. He sat in his car across the street from House's apartment, drumming his fingers on the center console and trying to convince himself to get out of the car and into the rain.
The only noises were the light patter of raindrops, the squeak of the windshield wipers, and his harsh breathing.
The problem was that Wilson wasn't sure if House actually wanted him there – House had walked away from him. But he was here now; he couldn't leave again.
Not without seeing House first, at least.
Seeing that a light was on, Wilson finally forced himself to get out of the car. As he made his way across the street, his steps grew more confident, though the walk seemed to take forever.
He wouldn't let House turn him away. He wanted to be here, he wanted to help House. He'd been doing it all day so far and he hadn't refused House once.
His confidence faltered though and Wilson froze completely when he got closer to the door, able to see in the window to the room beyond through the partially open curtains.
He could see the back of the couch that he and House spent so many nights on doing nothing else but watching mindless television, eating carry-out, and drinking beer. They hadn't done that in a long time it seemed, a thought which made Wilson sad, distracting him slightly from the scene in front of him.
House was standing in front of the couch, facing toward the kitchen and leaning heavily on his cane. His blue eyes held a glassy look and his face was slick with sweat. He looked…sick. Nothing like when he had walked out on Wilson only hours before.
Wilson was ready to run in to the apartment, hating to see House looking that way, in pain and alone, when he noticed House was speaking to someone.
Oh God. He's seeing Amber still.
But once Wilson realized that, House raised his voice just enough for Wilson to hear him. And that one word made Wilson feel like he'd been doused in a bucket of ice cold water.
"Cuddy!"
Cuddy. Cuddy. Cuddy.
Cuddy was with House. House had left him and run to Cuddy instead. House didn't want his help anymore; he wanted Cuddy.
Oh God.
Wilson stumbled backwards, feeling like he'd been sucker punched. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself to take a deep breath. He wasn't needed right now; he had to accept that. Better to walk away now then make an idiot out of himself since it was obvious what House wanted.
Not him.
Without even bothering to glance back into the apartment, Wilson spun around and practically ran back to his car, ducking inside and slamming the door shut. He stuck the key in the ignition, but didn't turn it yet, his mind racing and not really thinking about what he was doing. Sucking in a deep breath, he leaned his forehead against the steering wheel before closing his eyes and willing the empty feeling in his gut to go away.
He shouldn't feel this way. He should be feeling happy for House. God, Wilson had pushed for him to admit his feelings to Cuddy for months now. And after everything that had gone on that day, House deserved the possible comfort that Cuddy could bring him. This was good; great, in fact.
Then why did Wilson feel like he couldn't breathe and his heart was being put in a vice grip?
Sitting up quickly, he wiped the rain water off his face and turned the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled and with one last parting glance at House's front door, Wilson drove off to his empty, and lonely, apartment.